


$200 and 72 Hours

by fedaykin, GenerallyHuxurious (GallifreyanOmnishambles)



Series: Modern Emperors [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alone In An Unfamiliar City, Alphabet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aurebesh, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Being Lost, Blood, Broken Bones, Caffeine Addiction, Canon Character in Modern AU, Codes & Ciphers, Confused Identity, Confusion, Culture Shock, Dimension Travel, Earth Culture From A Canon Star Wars Perspective, Fights, Fish out of Water, Flashbacks, Foreign Language, Hallucinations, Huxcest, Isolation, JakJak Hux-Ren, Language Barrier, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mugging, Poor Life Choices, Returning Home, Self-cest, Sleep Deprivation, Stabbing, Survival, Time Travel, Trapped, When AUs collide, illiterate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin/pseuds/fedaykin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious
Summary: Following the events of "Foreword" Auren Hux sets off to find his way back to his own universe. Afterall, Eamon Hux might have been a very pleasant distraction, but the youngest Lieutenant General the First Order has ever seen has a Starkiller to build and a Resistance to defeat. Except the creature that brought him to Earth isn't where he was expecting him to be. Can Hux find his own way home with only a pocket of unfamiliar currency and an unresponsive comm unit in a primitive city where everyone speaks his language but he can't read a single word?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel for all the readers who wanted to know how Auren got home again after the end of "Foreword". We hope you enjoy!

The factory door closed with a subdued click, a quiet noise that still held an air of finality.

“We should do this again sometime.” Eamon had said.

Such a shame that would not be possible.

The smell of the water and the various vehicle emissions assaulted Auren the moment he stepped outside. He'd forgotten about it after his last cigarra, the scent of the smoke lingering until he’d reached the factory and there the unpleasant odor of cut wood had soon been overridden by blood, adrenaline and later the unique scent of Eamon’s skin.

Auren could still taste him on his lips and he was loathe to lose that, but the stench on the air was too distracting. Besides he'd been awake for- he checked his comm- 27 hours now. The warm, relaxing post-coital glow, and the satisfaction of a good kill, were making his limbs heavy and sluggish. He needed the buzz the tabac would give him if he was going to navigate his way back to his entry point into this peculiar world with any kind of speed or accuracy. Eamon had been a wonderful distraction, but Auren couldn't afford to cling to that.

Touching his firestick to the end of his cigarra he turned away from the building and began to retrace his steps at an expeditious pace. If he stumbled slightly as he stepped down from the first curb he attributed it to nothing more slight muscle fatigue.

* * *

It took him just over two hours to find the cantina again. He'd paid attention to the route they'd taken when he’d followed Eamon but Auren simply wasn't used to being planet-side and even less so on a planet with a breathable atmosphere.

His daily life involved commanding a Star Destroyer- yes, the Indefatigable had been several kilometres long and arranged over tens of decks, but each of those was level, with a roof above his head and good recycled air in his lungs. The majority of First Order controlled planets were too oxygen poor to risk open air habitation, which meant most could be navigated without ever stepping out of an airlock. He simply wasn't accustomed to tall buildings that changed appearance depending on the angle of his approach. Or terrain that changed its incline so often. Or the poor level of lighting in the mostly deserted streets.

Perhaps none of that would have been a concern if he could have just read the pfassking signs and memorised the road names along the route but, although Eamon had spoken Basic, the written language wasn't Aurebesh. Obviously there was no benefit to Auren taking the time to try to decode it for just one evening’s diversion.

Still, Auren made a note on his comm to look up advanced cryptography training on his return to civilisation. He fully intended to be the public face of the First Order one day soon and it really wouldn't do for an embarrassment like this to be repeated where anyone with any influence might see it…

The cantina was closed.

He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts about this planet's language he hadn't registered the lack of illumination from the building’s windows or the absence of the loitering crowd until he was almost at the main doors.

There was no sign of life at all, not even lingering security personnel or a barman completing a last few cleaning tasks.

Well. That was inconvenient.

He peered through the windows as if half hoping that he'd see the massive figure of the almost-human xeno loitering in the darkened building. Had the creature even _been_ in this bar with him? He hadn't lost consciousness and the refresher had been empty when he left the cubicle.

Auren frowned. What had he been thinking? _Had_ he been thinking?

Realising how odd it would appear to passersby for him to be peering into a closed business, Auren resolved to make a circuit of the building to look for any other entrance, or any sign of the strange creature that had brought him here.

As he walked he replayed the encounter in his mind. They'd barely spoken to one another. Barely more than four sentences. Once they'd been alone he'd been threatened, choked, manhandled, and reverse-robbed, then… Nothing.

His actual words held no particular clues. He'd said he was "...eager to have some fun. And you do look like you'd be so much fun." Which had likely been nothing more than a ploy to get him into the bathroom stall. Then he'd reassured him that he'd be unharmed. Despite two of the four men that had been on a mission to kill Eamon making attempts on Auren’s life as well.

Auren stopped abruptly on the empty sidewalk.

"I just happen to know a guy you'd like, he could use one last hurrah before he goes.”

He didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe in predestination. He didn't.

He started walking again, tracing a wider loop around the bar this time, his eyes passing over every doorway and junction in search of dark red hair and wide shoulders.

He didn't believe in such things. But if Eamon had been _meant_ to die, and now he hadn't, perhaps that being wouldn't come back for him after all. Should Auren have left the storeroom first and then Eamon would have been the one to face the first attacker? Auren had seen him fight- Eamon would have survived just as easily as he had.

The factory though. Auren compulsively checked his pockets, remembering Eamon’s ridiculous choice to give up a weapon he’d seized from one of his foes. Yes, Auren could see impulsiveness like that costing the man his life. If he hadn't been there…

He crossed a junction and shivered, cold wind from over the water cutting through the fabric of his tunic. The smell was still unpleasant but the cooler air calmed his mind a little.

He'd been brought here by a creature that had spoken of celebrations and rewards but nothing beyond that. Either it intended to come back for him, or it didn't.

He pulled his comm back out of his pocket. There was no signal of any kind, but the tall buildings and primitive transmissions of the city might be blocking the device. If he walked down toward the water where the buildings were thinner, there might be a better chance of getting some connection with civilisation. Even if he could only reach a Republic aligned system or, he shuddered, the Hutt Cartel there'd still be some way to get off planet.

If that didn't work he might need to follow the shoreline out of the city entirely.

It had been at least five years since he'd needed to take this kind of planetary survival course. He was no longer an active sniper and his command responsibilities had far outstripped anything that could justify him being in a hostile environment with less than an entire squadron at his back. Still, he'd received the highest commendations at the Academy for a reason.

The view shifted as he moved down hill, the sky fading from the nighttime reflection of the artificial lights to the pale gold of a true dawn. He wasn't sure how long a day cycle would be on this planet but he should be able to estimate it from the changing position of the sun. That would give him something to focus on as he walked. The cantina seemed to be a nighttime establishment- if he could calculate the length of the day he would be able to walk a distance out of the city and still return in time to speak to the staff. Perhaps one of them would be familiar with his oddly absent kidnapper.

It wasn't the most advanced plan, but until he had access to something more concrete as to his precise location in the universe it was the best he had.

* * *

The city had woken up as he walked. Delivery and sanitation workers first, then the clerks and administration staff. It struck him how familiar the ebb and flow of the humans around him really was despite the strange environment. He felt like he did on those mornings when he'd wake early with a mind full of half formed schematics and have to walk the corridors for an hour to settle his mind. A cog in a living machine. Thousands of souls going about their business to the rhythm of some scheme or schedule he did not know yet, but it was one he could learn.

These were humans, not some other species. The technology was crass and he was already beginning to suspect- from the prevalence of ground vehicles and the emptiness of the sky- that the world lacked basic extra-atmospheric travel, but still. They spoke Basic, he would surely be able to decipher enough of their culture to survive the one or two days until he could get off planet.

He kept pace with the average pedestrians, wary enough of his surroundings not to risk drawing attention or causing himself an injury with a misstep. And injury certainly seemed a possibility.

The roads that had been almost deserted during the night were now teeming with vehicles. Coloured lights suspended at each junction controlled the flow of traffic and Auren almost smiled with delight at the simple realisation that this civilisation used red and green in the same way as his own. That might simplify the matter of signage…

Auren stepped out from under a raised section of road onto what seemed to be the shoreline. There were boats of various sizes moored amongst buildings that seemed to be mostly given over to entertainment purposes rather than the industry he’d been expecting.

The air smelled of salt, aquatic life and… caf?

For the first time since he’d stepped out of the bar the night before Auren actively used his olfactory senses to lead him. There was a shop, relatively small compared to the building that housed it. Above the doors were green signs depicting a female figure in a crown with what appeared to be a pair of scaled tails on either side of her body.

He hadn’t actively noted it before but Auren realised he’d seen her multiple times as he’d followed Eamon through the city. Sometimes on signs like this but on at least one occasion she’d been painted several storeys tall onto the side of a building. Whether she was a deity or a symbol for the product they sold it seemed clear that she was important to the city, and this particular store was the source of the tempting smell.

Auren was suddenly aware that he hadn’t consumed anything but two beers and a brandy in the last twelve hours. He habitually went longer than that without food, but not without caf.

He stood on the sidewalk, watching the progress of the customers through the establishment. There was a menu, which he could not read. Most of the individuals going up to the counter seemed to be giving quite long orders, which he would not be familiar with. They were being asked for information that was then written onto their cups and used to retrieve them later, again he would not be able to read them. And finally there was the matter of currency. He could feel the papers and small collection of coins in his pocket, but he had no idea of their value or how much he had remaining. Although he’d never dealt with currency like this he knew better than to empty his pockets in a crowded street to study it.

He hesitated a moment longer. A patron left the store, trailing the aroma of the caffeinated beverages in his wake. Auren’s hand clenched automatically against his thigh, reminding him of his cigarra. He was not an animal or an addict, he could resist for now.

Since he’d turned right to locate the source of the smell he elected to continue on the same course. The factory had been on the opposite heading and while the buildings had been lower the city had seemed no less dense after several kilometres, perhaps he would more luck in this direction.

* * *

He had been correct.

In terms of the city falling away to smaller buildings and the open body of water to his left there was certainly much more space in his chosen direction, more or less immediately.

In terms of his comm however there was no corresponding sign of improvement.

He’d followed the ferrocrete roadway until it turned back towards the city, then, determined to stay with the shoreline, he’d followed a pedestrian only path through some kind of formal garden. There were still low buildings, and the rails used for primitive transport to right but the area was generally far quieter than city itself had been.

After an hour he sat at a table that seemed to have been built for the use of passersby and discreetly emptied his pockets onto the surface.

He had his firestick; twelve cigarra; his folding knife, in addition to the two at his forearms and the one in his boot holster; his comm with 78% battery remaining; all his code cylinders; three remaining blisters of lubricant; the loop-bladed tool he’d taken from the factory and the currency.

Returning the other objects to their rightful homes he turned his attention to the small collection of paper and metal that represented all his monetary worth on this particular planet.

Auren frowned as he peered at the papers. He’d already seen a great deal of text and dismissed it as unreadable but… he squinted, running his fingertip under the green sequence printed on each sheet. The font was different than the rest of the design but it certainly looked like numerals. Almost as if someone had drawn extra vertical lines onto Aurebesh symbols.

Those sequences were all unique but there were repeating figures in the corners of the paper. 20, 10, 5, 1. Yes. That was clearly it. He’d started with ten of the papers marked 20 and he’d used two of them to buy drinks, leaving him with one paper marked 10, one marked 5 and three marked 1. Plus the metal discs.

Feeling inordinately pleased with himself for solving this puzzle- and discovering that he would be able to read ten of the symbols for this language- he turned to the rest of the currency, only to discover that they lacked any common numerals.

He had 178 units of currency and a selection of metal collectively worth something less than two units. Further research would be required.

Lighting a cigarra to stem the petty disappointment and the rising smell of the plant life, he moved on. A spit of land was visible up ahead that extended out into the water. It looked to be the nearest point that would be significantly separated from the city and would be at least another hour’s walk. Auren decided it would the best location to aim for next.

* * *

This proved to be a mistake.

Three hours later, Auren was sitting on a rock regretting every choice he’d made from the moment he’d decided not to obtain caf.

He’d been unable to follow the shoreline after a while but had pressed on through what had seemed to be a large wealthy residential area. He’d never lived off base as a child, having been kept at the academy by his father, but the layout was familiar. Although the buildings were not large in comparison to the city, they were far, far larger than any quarters he’d ever resided in himself. Each seated in a parcel of planted land they seemed sufficient to hold at least ten rooms and yet in kilometres of walking he hadn’t seen more than four or five individuals enter each one.

He had wondered what precisely one would put into so much space. But then of course he could have easily filled such a building with the machines necessary for his various trades, he simply had the benefit of an entire Star Destroyer to arrange however he pleased.

A pang of something like homesickness had echoed through him then. He had pushed it down and pressed on. There would be no use moping. He needed to get out of the city to try to activate his comm unit and find a way back to his kriffing ship.

The residential area had given away to forest, and the less Auren thought of _that_ the better. It had been a relief to break through into the desolate scrubby landscape that marked the edge of the spit of land and be presented with a view that stretched uninterrupted for kilometres in every direction.

Water surrounded him in almost every direction, hemmed in on the horizon by green islands and hills, while above him the sky stretched, blue and grey and disconcertingly endless.

The city was no longer visible. If there was to be any hope of his comm detecting a signal without actively heading into the wilderness, then that this would be it.

Nothing.

He’d sat on this rock for over an hour, adjusting the settings and fighting the urge to open the device without the proper tools, and nothing.

It wasn’t simply that he couldn’t find a channel he recognised.

He couldn’t find a channel at all.

Even in the further most backwater reaches of the Outer Rim there had always been something, even if it was only local chatter and his own agents. But now…

It was as if the entire galaxy had gone silent.

It had taken him five hours to walk here and the sun was past its zenith. He needed to go back, find the cantina and then find the creature that had brought him here. If that failed again, he needed some fine tools and possibly some crystals.

He was going to get home if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

The sky was fading to purple and gold when he finally found himself standing in front of the smiling green symbol once more.

He’d more or less successfully retraced his steps back to the red building on the waterfront. The smell of caf was irresistible after almost a day without. It had certainly been a mistake not to partake earlier, doubts about the culture or not.

There was a line inside and he found himself waiting behind a number of people with wildly different accents, all of whom seemed to be as unfamiliar with the concept as he was. He watched the process closely, still none the wiser as to exactly what the products on offer were and whether he’d find them palatable. There seemed to be baked goods on offer as well as beverages and his stomach loudly made its opinion known with regard to the prospect of food.

Just when he’d decided to simply order exactly the same as one of the previous customers, as he had in the bar he noticed the attractive young man behind the counter shift his eyes over his figure in a suggestive fashion. He met the man’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. That earned him a bright smile which he returned, slightly relieved.

“What can I get you?”

“What do you recommend?” He countered, pitching his voice a little lower usual. Yes, there was that assessing sweep again.

“That depends how you like your coffee.”

Auren studied the man in turn- taller than him with well defined muscles and a rich skin tone, the natural reply was of course, “Large, dark and strong.”

The man laughed as he reached towards the cups. “To take out?”

“Sure.” Auren would rather keep moving.

The man scrawled something on the paper cup before he added another layer to the outside. “I’m gonna make you my signature quad shot mocha. You’ll love it. Next time you’re here ask for Jay.”

“Of course, thank you Jay.”

“Anything to eat?”

“Surprise me.”

That got him a wide grin and the man tapped the side of the cup where he’d written something before. “What name?”

“Sorry?” Auren frowned, confused.

“So the barista can get the right drink to you.”

“Ah, of course- Auren.”

“That’ll be eight eighty-eight.”

Auren handed him one of the 20 papers and accepted a bagged pastry in return. The returned currency he slipped into a different pocket, intending to study it later. It came with a slip of paper that might also prove useful in further deciphering the language.

The drink was good- hot and slightly sweet and quickly lighting up the parts of his brain that functioned best when saturated with caf. On further inspection the bagged item was some kind of fist sized dense cake partially wrapped with inedible paper. There were small blue fruits scattered through it, tart against the sweet richness of the dough. He would have happily eaten a dozen of them.

Walking further down the street until he could lean against an empty stretch of harbour railing Auren considered the cup in his hand. The brown outer sleeve had apparently had his name written on it, but it had been rendered as Osk, backward Resh, Osk, Nen - Orong. That seemed to be an unlikely interpretation. He was probably assuming correlation where there was none.

Under the sleeve was the initial writing that had apparently been a form of flirting. Jenth, Xesh, Vev - 555-2368. The number was meaningless and the letters again seemed unlikely. Three consonants? Still Jenth made the “jay” sound so that might be correct.

Still, not terribly helpful.

He turned to the slip of paper next. It was a receipt, easy enough to understand. There was the cost of the beverage and the food with a 9.6 addition of some kind… he compared the numbers in his head. It was a percentage so the symbol after it probably represented that concept.

He turned to currency next, quickly checking the papers - a 1 and two 5s - before returning them to the other pocket. He had three coins, two copper, one silver. The silver was therefore likely to represent 10 partial units, though it shared no text in common with the ten unit paper. All three coins had a word in common with the 1 unit bill. Osk, backward Nern, Enth - onae. One? Perhaps.

He smiled as started walking again, his spirits lifting as the caf spread through his system. Perhaps he was getting somewhere.

* * *

The cantina was still closed the first time he walked passed it. Watching the crowds he noticed a number of individuals- usually speaking with accents different to Eamon’s if not with entirely different languages- reading from paper charts. Waiting at a junction for the green signal he took the opportunity to study one more closely and established that it was a map.

If he was unable to locate the creature that had brought him here this evening it might be useful to obtain a similar map of his own.

Now aware of their existence he spotted one in the window of another shop, unfortunately closed amongst a display of genuine paper books. His father had kept a small collection of such rare objects at the academy, but they all been lost in the rout. Peering into the darkened building he saw that it contained hundreds, if not thousands of them. Apparently this was a very primitive culture indeed.

As his eyes drifted over the displays he noticed a selection of brightly coloured books apparently designed for children, including a pair that seemed to be intended for learning the basic symbols of the language. One related to the numerals, with collections of objects next to each symbol to represent quantity while the other seemed to deal with the alphabet. Only three figures were shown in the cover with attendant objects that he didn’t necessarily recognise - a red fruit of some kind, a black and yellow insect, and a feline - but still, it might be useful to at least know how many symbols he was dealing with and how they were arranged, rather than simply assigning them names from the Aurebesh alphabet.

So long as no one in the First Order _ever_ found out that he had purchased a children’s book for the purposes of cryptography.

He made a mental note of the shop’s location and circled back toward the bar.

* * *

Picking discontentedly at a plate of something called nachos- no element of which his palette was capable of deciphering- Auren watched the crowd with heavy lidded eyes.

Finding the bar open had been a relief and he’d eagerly taken the opportunity to at least wash his hands and face, and reset his hair with clean water. His uniform was designed to be durable- it could remain reasonably clean for days in the field. A shame that he could not do the same.

He’d been awake for over forty hours now and it was beginning to show in his face. His eyes were sinking back into their sockets and his cheeks seemed to sag slightly with the fatigue of grinding his teeth. It was a bad habit. At 29 he did not want to consider the very real possibility of aging into the Commandant. Though Auren doubted that he could ever physically consume the calories necessary to turn his sparse frame into anything nearly as excessive as Brendol Hux.

At the thought of calories his stomach had repeated its cry for sustenance. Once again he’d lacked sufficient knowledge to make a choice for himself so he’d sat at the bar with a bottle of Dark Star until he’d identified a food item that other patrons were ordering regularly.

The food was no worse than the various protein slurries and ration packs he’d eaten almost exclusively for the last two and a half decades, but after his earlier meal, and the satisfying beer in his hand, it was more than a little disappointing. Still, that meant that dragging out its consumption was no particular hardship.

He could tell the bar staff were watching him, though he didn’t recognise any of them from the night before. They probably resented his attempt to consume his purchases as slowly as possible, but he had limited funds and after two hours of watching the steady flow of patrons without any sign of the tall redhead who’d brought him here he had no idea how long those funds would need to last him.

* * *

Auren returned to the moonlit streets four hours later, when the cantina finally closed for the evening.

He’d taken his time, nursing his drinks and taking tours of the building before each new purchase but he’d found nothing of any value. He had tried asking the staff and the security whether they had seen an individual matching the creature’s description. However, beyond a vague promise to “call” him if they saw him in future, they were unable to help.

Judging by the sky, and the position of the stars relative to his observations when he’d left the factory the night before, this planet had completed its daily cycle.

He checked the chronometer on his comm. Approximately 24 hours since he’d left Eamon’s company.

The only concrete thing he’d achieved in that time was spending a quarter of his total funds.

Sighing heavily he lit a cigarra. Ten remaining.

He was tired. He should sleep. But where?

Trailing listlessly through the streets again Auren studied the various buildings in more detail, unhindered by the flow of the crowds. Most of them seemed to house commercial spaces in the lower levels, reserving the upper levels for other purposes.

One especially grand building he had passed previously had covered part of the sidewalk with a soft material which lead from the edge of the road directly into the building itself. Just as he drew level with it a man in an austenatious uniform had helped a woman from a vehicle with a greeting that his brain had only noticed when it reached the word ‘hotel’.

He’d never had cause to stay anywhere planet-side but his assigned quarters or general barrack spaces but he certain that this was a form of lodging space. He studied the signage, trying to memorise the unfamiliar shapes for future comparison. There was no point enquiring as to the cost of a room here. If a light meal and a single beverage used up 5% of his funds then he’d have to find somewhere of lower quality if he had any hope of stretching the currency as far as possible.

The point became moot within an hour. He had found a hotel whose administrator had informed him was the cheapest in the centre of city with rooms still available. The cost was more than he still possessed. He had tried two more but had been told much the same.

Discouraged, he walked back to the harbour.

In the dark spaces beneath the raised roads he saw the occasional familiar huddled figure hidden amongst the support beams.

When had he last slept like that? Eleven? Twelve? The year he’d been fast tracked into the academy for his mind, his father’s rage against the frail state of his body still ringing in his ears. Of course he’d killed the old man within his first three years. A demonstration in self defence Brendol had called it. Auren had demonstrated to the other cadets the true benefit of the wider cut of their uniform sleeves, the perfect place to conceal a weapon an attacker would not expect you to possess.

Those had been different, difficult times. The fleet half in ruins as it limped towards the Outer Rim. Whole families had slept much like that, on the decking of the corridors and wedged amongst the bulkheads. Space with proper radiation shielding had been at a premium and only active military personnel had rated even a bed share.

Could he still do it now? Doubtful.

He shoulder ached and limited his movement if he fell asleep across his desk for a few hours, sleeping on the cold ground without even his greatcoat for warmth- that would be a disaster.

He settled against the railing half a kilometre up from the caf… no, coffee shop, and stared out across the water towards the lights of the islands and the wide expanse of sky.

Auren had never been a navigator. He could plot a basic course with access to a navigational computer and there was no one in the First Order who knew more about the physical structure of stars, but that was not the same as being a true navigator. He couldn’t look at this sky and translate the constellations into four dimensional star maps in his head. It was a skill learned young and developed to the detriment of other abilities, his father would not have allowed it even if he had shown an aptitude.

Still. He didn’t recognise any of these stars. They hung there, meaningless, their slow rotation disrupted by relatively few moving artificial lights.

He watched them with little interest. They were clearly nothing more than a few low orbiting satellites and the occasional small stratospheric vessel. There was nothing larger waiting at a more distant orbit, and no sign of anything entering or exiting the atmosphere.

Compulsively he checked his comm anyway. Nothing. 42% charge remaining.

When the sun rose he would obtain caf and a map, and try to formulate a new plan.

* * *

Auren woke with a start.

He’d sat down on the bench with the intention of resting his throbbing feet while he checked his comm, but apparently exhaustion had overtaken him.

At least the device was still in his hand.

The park was relatively deserted compared to the rest of the city but the exposure to the water made it cold and uncomfortable. Still he’d slept for two hours.

It had been 34 hours since he’d last seen Eamon and 61 one since he’d slept in a proper bed.

As he cycled through the comm channels he wondered idly what his double was doing but found himself entirely unable to imagine a life for the man. He had seemed so separate, so _other_ from the people he’d seen in this city. He couldn’t place that vision in white amongst the bustle of the day crowds, nor could he picture him in the mundanity of a daily routine.

He had been in his presence for so short a time and yet he’d understood his mind perfectly. Just as he was an officer placed high above the rank and file, was Eamon in a similar position of power? Or was he outside of it all?

Auren shook his head, irritated at himself. There was little use in thinking of that smiling deadly creature when all he knew was the man’s first name and a description so like his own that to share it would almost certainly make people suspect he was deranged.

As he stared at the frankly worthless device in his grip he began to suspect that such an assessment might be accurate.

What was the old academy saying about repeating the same thing but expecting a different result?

Before the sun had even risen he’d obtained caf- in a quantity that might have been classified as unhealthy- and another of the tempting cakes.

He’d retraced his steps to the bookstore where he'd purchased a map and one of the smallest alphabet books, claiming it to be a gift for a child relative.

Although she’d eyed him warily the bookstore assistant had dutifully pointed out the location of the store they were standing in, saving him the time needed to orientate himself.

The city was huge. It would probably take him all the daylight hours to walk out of it completely. He had still wanted to retest the comm theory, had still been unwilling to accept the previous day's result. So he'd found the greenest spot on the map- this waterside park- and walked five hours along the shoreline it, and promptly fallen asleep.

This was not something he had trained for, it was not even a scenario he could have imagined playing out in a holodrama, let alone reality.

Where the hell was he that there was no signal of any kind? They'd trained for encountering truly primitive species and surviving until rescue arrived. They'd trained for repairing or building a communication device if their own was lost, but this. No signal at all. He could think of no habitable planet, no matter how backward, anywhere in the Galaxy that wasn't within range of an interstellar civilisation. Even if it was only the Chiss Ascendency or the Hutt Cartel, he should be able to pick up something.

What exactly could he do?

This wasn't a truly primitive species despite the basic level of technology. He'd seen computing devices, he'd seen satellites- they were on the cusp of leaving their solar system and that made them damn near impossible to deal with. If they'd been pre-computing it would have been easy to slip into their society as an illiterate and still work in some kind of lower level engineering role until he was confident with the language. If they'd been involved in Galactic there'd be some way of getting a message out. He was trapped in the hinterland between the two ideals- they were too advanced to easily accept him as an outsider and too unsophisticated to be of help.

And he was too tired to think straight. He was Auren Hux- commander of thousands, an engineer of ships and weapons with the potential to subdue entire systems, and here he sat, utterly lost.

If he only had the language.

Gritting his teeth Auren pulled the colourful book from his pocket and set about comparing the symbols with the text on the map. He was becoming frustrated with himself and this humiliating act was making matters worse, but until his brain presented him with another option he was too bone weary to go anywhere else.

* * *

When the light had started to fade he'd walked back into the city, stopping again at another of the stores with the green woman symbol. Caf was a comfort he could not bring himself to do without on this unfamiliar world.

The staff there had not treated him as courteously as in his first encounter and when he paused in their refresher he saw why.

His eyes were bruised looking now, the sclera turning gradually red and bloodshot as the flesh around the orbs sank in deeper. He was developing stubble. The texture was soothing and recalled more pleasant memories of just two days ago, but the visual appearance was not a comfort. He lacked his counterpart’s casual appearance and juxtaposed with the severe lines of his uniform it served only to make him look distressed. He supposed he was.

If anything his reception when he returned to the cantina later that evening was even more hostile with more than one staff member allowing their gaze to linger on him for minutes at a time. He found his mood souring further as he conducted his slow circuits from table to refresher to bar.

He'd ordered some greasy meat and bread product that had arrived with some equally greasy vegetable but he hadn't tasted any part of it. Even eating it mechanically had felt like a trial, his stomach desperate for sustenance but objecting vehemently to the mess on his plate. He forced it down anyway, fearing that the beer he had to consume to remain in the building was finally having an effect on his faculties.

His posture was slipping, his shoulders rising above his ears as his torso sagged.

He wasn't even surprised to find that he didn't care.

* * *

Behind the bar the staff murmured together, their eyes irresistibly drawn to the man in black.

“He was like this yesterday and apparently he was in here on Monday too. Poor Torian had to deal with the mess he left.”

“What’s your point?”

“Don’t you think he’s acting weird? He just sits there and looks around and drinks?”

“That’s what everybody does in here.”

“He’s just creeping me out.”

“You wouldn’t give it another thought if you didn’t know who he was.”

“That’s my point entirely! What if something happens in here?”

“Duck.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Look, it’s not your problem. I regret even telling you about him.”

“Well, you go talk to him then. Figure out what’s wrong.”

“I’ve met him like three times.”

“You’re more qualified than me.”

“Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s probably best that we don’t know. So just drop it.”

“...” He wasn't convinced.

“You’re working tomorrow, yeah? Theron will be here. He’ll protect you from the scary ginger man.”

“Look, what if he finally lost it? Like… you told me some of the stuff he’s done… what if he’s finally gone off the deep end.”

“Those were rumors that you must never repeat. I’m serious. That’s the kind of shit that will get you in trouble. Now, shut the fuck up and get back to work. He’s looking at us.”

* * *

He passed the night in a space high in the support structure of the raised road, his body braced in place with long aching legs and a childhood of resting in such disagreeable conditions.

There had been no real sleep. Just as he'd begun to drift off a fight had broken out amongst the people trying to rest at street level. The military had arrived and dragged five of them away. He had seen their vehicles around the city, the flickering blue lights clearing a path through traffic but he'd failed to realise the significance.

Briefly he'd considered presenting himself to the officers and requesting a meeting with their leaders. He'd quashed the idea instantly. There had just been a fight and his uniform was still covered in traces of blood. The poorly armoured soldiers did not look like they had been hired for their wits. He should consider them hostile until he was more certain of their politics.

The day passed in an uncertain haze. Excluding the two painful hours sleep in the park he'd gone at least 80 hours without rest, 53 since he'd foolishly walked away from the only being he knew on this entire forsaken planet. He had begun the day with less than 90 units of currency and now, as he staggered back to the cantina for the evening, he found himself with around 30.

He'd discovered that the tall tower looming over the city was accessible to the public for the cost of two meals, so he'd attempted that in the futile hope that vertical distance above the city would aid his comm’s reception. Of course it hadn't.

He'd spent the cost of another meal on one of the boats that crossed to the islands. The swaying of the waves had made him felt wretched for the entire journey, his mood plummeting still further when he'd arrived on dry land only to find that the battery had failed.

In an uncharacteristic loss of control he'd smashed the unresponsive comm on the edge of the return boat’s refresher sink after a futile ten minutes spent trying to cleanse the filth from his uniform.

He wasn't sure how he'd spent his time after that. His thoughts slipped through his fingers like sand and his memories failed to interlock correctly. Twice he thought he'd seen Eamon only to realise it was his own reflection.

Some time before he'd turned towards the cantina he'd tried to obtain more caf. The woman behind the counter had not asked for his order, simply giving him a bright but worried smile as she declared he could have his “usual”. The coffee he'd been handed had been watery and far, far too sweet, though the food product had been palatable, whatever it had been. The woman had called him Eamon but the name hadn't registered until he was already several streets away. He'd paused and stared at the brown cardboard cuff.

Thesh, Xesh, a symbol that had no visual counterpart in Aurebesh, Osk and Nen.

Sitting on a bench, uncaring of any passersby who saw, he pulled out the children's book and compared the letters on the sleeve to the ones in the book.

5th letter, 1st letter, 13th, 15th, 14th.

How would he have spelt Eamon in Aurebesh?

28th, 13th, 15th, 14th. But Enth could be replaced with Esk and Aurek.

5th, 1st, 13th, 15th, 14th.

He looked around himself. There was a red sign with a white bar and three words on it. It took a minute or two to parse the symbols, regretting the absence of a stylus and writing surface, but he eventually reached - “do not enter”.

It was a fucking basic substitution cipher. Oddly lacking eight letters of the Aurebesh alphabet, but the first twenty six seemed to occupy the same positions.

He may have wept. Or laughed. Or both. He didn't remember. He didn't actually remember getting within sight of the cantina but he half smiled when he read the text above the door, he wasn't sure what ‘Arctic’ meant but ‘Club’ he understood. If he could just get some rest he could finally find a solution to the problem of this planet.

* * *

“You said he’s been here the past four nights?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s been like this the whole time?”

“Uh, I think so. That first night he seemed okay, but ever since then he’s just been getting worse and worse.”

“Hmm.”

“What are we going to do?”

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything. _You_ are going back out there, I need to make a phone call.”

“Who are you calling?”

“None of your damn business, now get out there. Less you know the better.”

Theron waited until his colleague was at the far end of the bar, engrossed in a complex drinks order, before he pulled the burner phone from his back pocket and dialed the number from memory.

“Uh, hi Mr. Mitaka, it’s me… Theron Shan? Yeah, um, I have a message for… um, it’s about Eamon Hux.”

* * *

The bar staff were watching him again. He recognised this one. Eamon had interacted with him after the incident in the storeroom.

Auren’s lips twitched at the memory while his mind drifted from the point. What a glorious night that had been. Sex and death...

The would-be assassins. Some part of his brain long programmed for survival jolted him awake. What if there had been more of them.

The man was watching him with something like fear.

Finishing his beer Auren retreated to the refresher in a desperate attempt to wake himself with cold water over his face and wrists.

What to do? He'd almost asked Eamon’s opinion before he recognised himself in the mirror. He looked close to death.

It had be almost three days since he'd seen Eamon, approaching 100 hours without real sleep, he'd never, even at the academy, even during his father’s training…

The door opened, admitting two strangers.

Paranoid, his brain swimming in its own poisons, Auren bolted.

* * *

Eamon Hux finally dropped his phone on his chest, one leg thrown over the backside of the couch and closed his eyes. It was relatively early in the evening, but he was still sore and tired from his activities a few nights prior. In retrospect, he could say he’d been reckless. The pain from his shoulders and his lower back was a constant reminder that maybe he was starting to get old. Maybe he should stretch before trying to kill three men while unarmed.

Auren had been there. If it weren’t for an entirely different soreness to his body, Eamon nearly thought he’d made it up. In what world did a nearly identical person to yourself show up, assist in murdering some assassins, and then fuck you in the aftermath? Perhaps the rumors were true, perhaps he was going insane, Eamon thought bitterly. Maybe it was time to enter in the betting pool for when he’d finally snap.

A buzz rumbled over his chest, and Eamon peeked an eye open to see that Phasma was calling him. He watched it until it stopped, readjusting with a contented sigh and enjoyed the quiet once again.

A shrill screeching made him scrunch his face, momentarily hating Phasma, but she wouldn’t contact him like this if it wasn’t important. Eager to stop the noise, he accepted the call.

“Hey.”

_"What the fuck is wrong with you?”_

Eamon threw his free hand over his face, “Uh, do you want a list?”

_“Theron called, said you were harassing the staff.”_

“Theron? Look, I wouldn’t call that ‘harassing’, a guy had an unfortunate spill in the storeroom and I gave the new kid… uh, Torian, a coin. But why is this my problem? That was days ago.”

_“Precisely, you already made a mess once, why do you keep going back to antagonize them more?”_

“Going back? That’s the first time that’s happened.”

_“Are you there now?”_

“No..”

_“Good. Just go home then. Or come here.”_

“I am home…?”

_“Don’t fuck with me, Eamon, I shouldn’t be getting these kind of calls, least of all about you.”_

“I’m not certain we’re talking about the same thing,” Eamon sat up, wincing as his back stretched. “Theron called you about what exactly?”

_“You’ve been there four nights in a row, you’re starting to scare them.”_

“Scare them?”

_“Full offense, but apparently you look like death warmed over right now. Are you alright? I know you had a rough night a few days ago and I told you not to do it, especially not alone, but are you injured? Morgan said you seemed okay, but with the way Theron’s acting -”_

“I’ve been going there for four nights in a row. Me.”

_“Eamon, are you sure you’re okay? I can send Thanisson to pick you up, just tell me where you are.”_

“No, no. I’m fine. Uh. I gotta go.”

_“Eamon, wait -”_

Eamon was backing out of his driveway in less than thirty seconds, his jacket thrown into the passenger seat. If he hurried, he might catch the last ferry into the city.

* * *

Auren headed inland as he left the building, his eyes constantly tracking through the crowd for any sign of recognition.

His steps were too fast, too deliberate, too predatory. The crowd parted like water around him. He heard whispers but no matter how quickly he turned his head he couldn’t find the source.

He felt off balance. Dizzy. He felt like his blood was trying to boil with the urge to fight or to kill but it was hindered by days of accumulated poison. Was he hyperventilating? He tried to concentrate on his breathing but stumbled, unable to split his focus.

Not good, not good, not good.

His hands were shaking, no twitching, as he reached for his cigarra case. He didn’t want to waste them but he needed the hit, he needed something, anything.

A vehicle passed too close in front of him as he lit the cigarra, a horrible screeching noise making him reel back. Looking up he realised he’d ignored the signal lights and had walked out into the roadway.

Suddenly he became aware of the sky above him as threat. All those buildings, all those windows, any one of them could be concealing a sniper. Any doorway, any vehicle, any alleyway could hide an assassin.

Quickening his pace he hurried toward the raised roadway just ahead of him. Darkness; a safe, low roof; boltholes where he could secret himself away; hidden vantage points; the chance to sleep.

As he stepped into the shadow of the road six men entered the darkness on the opposite sidewalk. They were loud and boisterous. They shouted to one another despite their proximity but Auren could hear other conversations being conducted under raucous laughter. He ignored them as he scanned the rest of the space, his gaze flickering compulsively from movement to movement.

“Hey man, can I bum a smoke?”

A moment or two passed before Auren realised that they were speaking to him. Why had he ignored them? All six pairs of eyes were fixed on him as they crossed the road.

They moved obliquely, their paths shifting in and out of one another’s as they walked. They were not assassins. They hadn’t even the finesse for that. But Auren knew what they were.

Above him a streetlight flickered and died, clicking to itself for a few moments before igniting again.

Yes, he knew what they were. How many officers and cadets had there been like them in the early days of the exodus? How many had used their age or their size or their rank to intimidate and bully and take whatever they wanted?

The leader spoke more slowly as he drew level, his tone sarcastic, pointing to the cigarra and mimed taking a drag.

“You know… a cigarette?”

The others laughed.

Auren didn’t respond. He watched them through heavy lidded eyes that were getting heavier. His focus was failing. He was being toyed with.

The light died and reignited again. The shadows shifted and reality went with it.

The ferrocrete under his boots became metal grating under bare soles. There were no spare shoes left in his size on board the _Retribution,_ he’d grown so fast, too tall, too thin, too weak. They’d come for him again. He hadn’t eaten his evening ration in four days and here they were again to take what little was his. He blinked. The sidewalk returned.

He shook his head, aware of how their gazes shifted as the sized him up. The prey was not going to submit, though it was badly outnumbered.

The men stepped closer. Shoes scratched across the ground as the figures at the edges shifted to flank him.

“Aw, come on man, it’s just one smoke. Not asking for much.”

Liar.

More laughter. Darker. Crueler.

He reached towards his left pocket, twisting his wrist in the process.

There were no thought processes here. Just the thing that had been born in him during the rout of Arkanis with the death of his mother and that first bloody fight for his life. The thing he had nurtured and fed and tamed for the last twenty five years.

They closed in as the leader held his hand out. His teeth glittered in the half light when he grinned.

“How about your wallet too?”

His hand darted forward to grab Auren’s wrist at just the moment that the blade settled comfortably in Auren’s palm came up in a backhanded arc. It nearly severed three of the man’s fingers, so sharp it went unhindered in its path towards his unprotected neck.

The unexpected spray of blood- black in the poorly lit tunnel-  where it nicked one carotid seemed to root the other attackers to the spot for an instant. Not one of them moved as he brought the hand back down, the ferocity of the blow driving their leader to his knees as it severed the other and the windpipe with it.

“Fuck! You...?” a lone voice called, kneeling to inspect their fallen companion. The attention had shifted away from him, but not by much. There were still two behind, he needed to think.

A fist from somewhere behind him caught him in the left ear. A hand grabbed at his tunic from the right. He twisted, grabbing the offending hand as he did so. His momentum and the man’s unbalanced stance worked to his advantage and despite his slimmer frame he all but threw the man into his companions.

The three in front of him went down in a tangle of limbs but the two behind were unhindered as he turned to face them.

He blocked the first punch but the second caught him in the ribs. Another to the stomach. A failed kick to the shin that was partially deflected by his metal boot inserts.

The next blow caught him in the temple, splitting his eyebrow, but he’d anticipated it. His blade sank into the man’s wrist as brought his arm up to loop around his attacker’s arm. A twist and side step broke the forearm, and second tug compounded it. The man screamed and collapsed as the bone tore through the skin.

Behind him the others were finding their footing. He tried to determine their positions as the remaining man in front of him rained inexpert blows towards his stomach.

Two of the figures returned to his line of sight, leaving the only the fourth behind him.

“You’re so fucking dead, we’re going to flay you alive.”

He had his second knife in his right hand now, but the first was coated with blood and slipped through his enervated fingers as he tried to turn it to a more advantageous hold. He felt the nerve damaged outer digits of his left hand fail, the first casualties of his exhaustion, and the blade clattered useless to the floor.

All eyes turned to the glinting metal and Auren swore as he kicked it away. If his attackers were armed they would have used their weapons by now. He couldn’t afford to pick it up but he also couldn’t allow these men any extra advantage.

One of them tried to hook his ankle as he kicked to drag him off balance. He turned into the movement and grinned as his blade slipped between the man’s ribs. A wet gasp told Auren a lung had been punctured. A second twisting blow to the lower abdomen brought the man to his knees but Auren barely had time to acknowledge it.

Hands had caught his left arm, dragging him back as more twisted his right wrist, disrupting Auren’s grip on his knife. It remained embedded in the dying man’s stomach as the body crumpled to the floor. He still had the tool from the factory, his boot and folding knives but no way to reach them. Desperate, Auren writhed, trying to break their hold but they had him held tight.

“Stop squirming, you little shit.”

He kicked out, trying to inflict as much damage as possible with the durasteel toecaps of his boots, but with an assailant per arm there was no need for proximity to hold him still. He couldn’t land any blows of consequence.

“You fucker, you don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with.”

He could dislocate his shoulder. The left hand was of little use now, and he had no idea of the long term consequences to the damaged joint but… A punch from the man in front fractured his thought processes and drove his head around to face the man on his left.

Auren frowned, confused. He hadn’t noticed a reflective surface down here in the dark. Why was he wearing an Imperial tunic? He met his own gaze, looking for meaning in blue eyes.

Disconcerted, the man gripping his arm glanced back, then screamed as that Auren stamped on the back of his knee, shattering the joint. Auren watched himself deliver a punch that drove the man down toward the sidewalk, a second blow sending him abruptly to his ruined knee. His vision sparkled as his shoulder was wrenched by the action but he forced himself to lean into the pull and drive his own heel into the man’s crotch. This time the grip on his arm failed as they shrieked in pain, the noise oddly cut off as that Auren broke the neck with a single practiced movement. Auren was impressed.

He fumbled the folding blade from his left trouser pocket, tossing it to himself before dipping his hand into his tunic pocket. The tool’s warm wooden handle was easier to grip in nerveless fingers as he flung his bodyweight against the man still gripping his right wrist.

“Thank you, Auren,” he said in a voice that was not his own.

He met his gaze and reality reasserted itself as Eamon swung the loaned blade at the last remaining attacker.

There wasn’t enough remaining brain power to keep track of Eamon’s actions while Auren struggled against the man who seemed determined to keep him at bay with the leverage of his own right arm. He couldn’t do enough with the left hand. He’d caught the man a ringing blow to the jaw with the pommel of the tool, he was bleeding heavily from the mouth but he would not go down.

An unexpected kick to the stomach brought Auren to his knees. A wet gurgle to his left suggested that Eamon had finished off the other one but there were too many punches making contact with Auren’s head for him to look up. He tried to curl inward to protect himself but the grip on his wrist held him taut and helpless.

The footsteps were almost silent but they were enough to track Eamon’s position.

Auren looked up just in time to watch his attacker’s face slacken and the grip on his wrist dropped away. The man fell heavily next to him, Eamon’s composed face locked on the knife protruding from between the cervical vertebrae.

“My hero,” Auren said with a shaky half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He hadn’t realized he flinched until Eamon’s warm hand left his bicep. Concern was evident in Eamon’s expression, his lips slightly pursed.

“Are you alright?” Eamon was gently inspecting him now, deliberately showing each move, like he had become some sort of wild beast. With a few flutters of golden eyelashes, Eamon smiled wryly, “You really do look like death.”

Blinking hard Auren found himself mesmerised by that smile, those eyes. The concern in them made him look away, taking in instead the immaculate skin and pristine clothes in spite of the carnage around them.

Eamon had spoken to him, his mind belatedly realised. What had he…

“I’m not dead.” He said, almost as if he had to convince himself.

There was a huff from the other man. “No, you’re not.”

A soft scrape on the ferrocrete made both their heads snap to the sound but Auren was sure he was the only one experiencing vertigo as a result. One of the downed men, the one with the mangled arm, was not quite dead and Eamon rose swiftly to finish the job.

Auren observed the body next to him, admiring the skill that came with sinking a small blade into the delicate opening between bone to sever the spinal cord. With only a slight tremor to his actions Auren grasped the hilt and pulled, the body jerking in an involuntary response, but still assuredly dead.

With a well practiced flick of his fingers, Auren closed the knife and returned it to his pocket. A wet crack drew his attention to Eamon standing over a now motionless body.

The light overhead was humming and when it died again, Auren watched the red emergency lights turn on. The corridor was long and empty but it wouldn’t last. It was past curfew and they were standing in the middle of a massacre. The ship’s ion engines roared and groaned above their heads. No part of the engineering section stayed empty for long. They needed to leave, he needed to take Eamon with him, he didn’t know the rules. Deserving or not, they couldn’t be caught so red-handed. The Commandant would never forgive such a slip. They had to get away.

He surged up and took a step before he fell to his hands and knees. His eyes were open, he knew they were open, but he could only see a shifting white.

“Auren?”

Someone pulled him to his knees, but he still couldn’t see. The patrol would find them and there would be no way to explain Eamon. They would take him away. Auren was too weak to stop it still. He was useless.

“Auren, look at me.” Fingers on his face, prying at the cut on his brow.

“I can’t.” Useless.

He was falling, helpless in Eamon’s grasp but also protected. A hand cradled his head to the ground, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. When was the last time someone had delicately touched his hair? His chest ached, he was hyperventilating.  

“Auren, tell me when you can see again. It will go away, just breathe a moment.” Fingertips stroked his forehead.

“Morgan? Reservation for… six.”

Eamon’s voice was so round and his eyes traced the shape until the light burned.

“Cherry Street under 5. I’ll be leaving momentarily. Right.”

He blinked. The edges of the overhead light became clearer and he could see the slight pulse in the power. Then everything went dark for a moment, a sweet relief to the blinding light, and Eamon’s features became clear again.

He was lying on the ground. He had been awake for 98 hours. He had wandered the streets of this city for 71 hours. He was in a strange city accompanied by another version of himself.

He was not on the _Retribution_. Those were not the red emergency running lights, only the lights of the occasional passing vehicle. Brendol Hux had been dead for years. No one was going to take what was his, not ever again.

“Hey,” Eamon smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

It was a slow affair to stand again and Eamon was pleasantly silent as they worked together shifting from position to position. Any words would have only highlighted his slight embarrassment. A Lieutenant General of the First Order, the finest of his generation, nearly passing out on the hard ground of a primitive planet, taken down by common thieves, it was deplorable.

“Are those your knives?”

He’d nearly forgotten, “Yes, those two there.”

Eamon checked his stance before letting go to retrieve the weapons. He could not deny that Eamon’s arm around his waist was a comfort as they slowly stepped down the street, leaving the corpse to rot, he assumed. Good riddance.

Try as he might, his physical body no longer responded to his simple requests, constantly stumbling on nothing as he knocked into Eamon’s side. He concentrated harder on each step as the ground began a steady decline. It made him feel as though he was falling and he grabbed Eamon more tightly.

He saw double in a reflective blue surface, one looked neat and one looked haggard. The blue door swung open and Auren recognized it as a personal vehicle. He sank into the cool leather seat, the pleased moan was unintentional but entirely deserving as his aching body enjoyed the first real chair he’d sat on in days.

Something hard touched his lips.

“Drink this.”

Actual water. He tried not to cough as he drank it down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had just water.

A muted slam, the creak of leather, another slam, a soft growl of a mechanical engine turning over, and sleep was bleeding over in his mind.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe.”

Safe. Safe would let him close his eyes. Safe let him fall asleep. Safe pushed away the panic when he felt arms pulling at him again. Was he walking? Was he being carried? It didn’t matter anymore.

Bright warm lights shone through his eyelids, a pleasant smell of soap faint enough to not overwhelm him, an obscenely soft surface under his body. He was naked. That should have concerned him, perhaps, in another place or another time.

He was safe. He could finally sleep.

He shot his arm out to grab the departing wrist. Through heavy lids, he could still see those blue eyes staring at him. They suited that face.

Delicately, he brought the hand to his lips, placing another kiss to those knuckles. They were lightly torn, injured in the brawl under dim lights. Injured in his defense.

He was safe. He slept.

* * *

The angle of the veranda on the grey house overlooking the Puget Sound did much to hide their presence from the two men inside. The sun was setting behind the city, painting Seattle in blue and gold while it glittered in her wild ginger curls. Beside her the massive bulk of her brother seemed to absorb the light rather than reflecting its brilliance. It didn’t matter. If Eamon or Auren looked up from their intense conversation they would not see them, the Force would keep them hidden.

Of all the iterations of her father these two were the ones Rowan would least like to catch them spying. Even with her Force abilities and JakJak’s own powers she still doubted they would survive.

“And now here’s both of them together.” JakJak said with a wave of one black clawed hand.

His tone had a lecturing quality, somewhat reminiscent of their redheaded father when he spoke of the Starkillers’ Project, or some new battleship design. It felt strange to Rowan Hux-Ren to hear this imitation the Emperor’s voice whilst watching the interactions of two men who were practically indistinguishable from him.

“How is this possible?” She asked, still vaguely horrified. “What did you do?”

“I honestly have no idea. I grabbed him shortly after he left from their… uh…”

JakJak paused, wriggling his hands uncomfortably, as if attempting to describe their interaction in the factory without actually naming the act.

“ahem... dalliance,” he continued, embarrassed. “I grabbed him after that. I put him back right where I found him, I swear, I did! I watched him leave. He went to bed. And then when I tried to come back here to check things, that’s when I felt it.”

“What?”

“He was still here. There were still two Huxes in one universe. Together. Here.”

“So, what? Somehow you made a new universe?”

“... I guess so.”

“And they are technically in their own universes still?”

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically.

“So then these two just appeared from nothing?”

“They’re definitely not nothing. They are the exact same thing as their originals… just on a different timeline now.”

“So, Auren’s still in his timeline and …”

“Do you want to go back again?” He asked, gripping Rowan’s arm with a delicacy that should have be unexpected from such wicked claws. “I’ll pop between these three until you believe me.”  

“No, no, I believe you, it’s just… I didn’t know you could create universes.”

“Neither did I.”

“Dont… don’t do it again.”

“...”

“Kriffing hells, you already have, haven’t you?”

“It’s just some research.” JakJak muttered, refusing to meet Rowan’s accusing glare. “Father is always saying that a single data point isn’t a proof.”

“How many?”

JakJak raised a hand, counting on his fingers. After a moment slender tentacles began to writhe out of his sleeves to join the digits.

“Jaaak…” She groaned. Her eyes unfocused as she rubbed her temples, gazing into some inner world, apparently counting herself. It was an expression her father often wore when he spoke to her other father, Kylo: Master of the Knights of Ren and Instigator Of Emperor Hux’ Headaches.

She sighed, “So...what? Auren languishes here, tormented and unfulfilled while the original version of him continues on to glory as Galactic Emperor? That seems a little unfair.”

“No,” JakJak said, watching the two redheaded men as they talked. Auren looked a little better since he’d finally slept, and Eamon seemed to be taking all his confessions in stride. They’d been talking for six hours now. It was clear that his was a conversation that would take months to truly finish. But neither man had made any move to leave.

“No, no, I don't think that's it at all. Quite the opposite in fact…”

**Author's Note:**

> :D Surprise! He never went back to the canon verse! The events of "The Emperor's Mirror" took place in the other universe with the version that did get taken back, or as GenHux insists on calling it "The Darkest Timeline". We think this one is better. Stay tuned for more identical assassin adventures as Auren gets used to living on Earth and Eamon wonders what the hell he's let himself in for!
> 
> -
> 
> JakJak Hux-Ren (the interdimensional creature who brought Auren to Earth in the first place) and his sister Rowan are on loan from the Laeti Vescimur Nos Subacturis universe. If you ever need a character moving in time or space, please stand in front of a mirror and say 'JakJak' three times. Your character has now been moved. He has also eaten the entire contents of your fridge.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> Auren Hux is from [Ultraviolence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6311275/) by [GenerallyHuxurious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious)  
> Eamon Hux is from [Killing Strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6533593/) by [fedaykin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin)


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